


Twisted Ribbons

by sponsormusings



Series: Social Standing [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Prompts in Panem, Seven Deadly Sins, Social Standing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sponsormusings/pseuds/sponsormusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted her. Desperately.</p><p>The more he saw her, the more he dreamt of her; the more he thought of her, the more he fantasised of her.</p><p>An outtake from a previous chapter of Social Standing. </p><p>Submission for Prompts in Panem - Day 5 - Lust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted Ribbons

He wanted her. Desperately.

The more he saw her, the more he dreamt of her; the more he thought of her, the more he fantasised of her.

He supposed it was the fact she was so obscured, so hidden. The parts of her he could touch, that he could see, were limited. He had her hands to study, the slim column of her neck to caress. He could wrap his hand around her braid, could slide his tongue along the shell of her ear. Could press his lips to hers, touching and tasting until he had had his fill.

His problem was he never had his fill. The need, the want, the lust, the desire, was always there. But he had promised they would not act on it - she had asked him softly, her eyes pleading. She did not want any accidents, did not need to complicate a life that already had enough complications. Could not afford the loss of her position, could not afford to be penniless with another mouth to feed.

And absolutely refused to contribute another Devonshire bastard to run around the English countryside.

Plus, she had told him lightly, they were not to be forever, so why add such an element that could get them in trouble?

Peeta hated when she spoke that way.  Hated when she referred to his place in society as a measure of keeping a distance. He much preferred when she was angry, when she would argue for an hour about how unfair it was that some had everything while others had naught? Those sessions in the study always fired his blood so much they more often than not ended with her in his lap, his hands tangled in her hair, or grasping at the curves hidden under layers of black and white cloth, and cursing the promise he had made to her.

It made for some awkward and tension filled nights that he had had to take care of himself in the privacy of his own room.

She hurried in, her face flushed, her breast heaving as she closed the study door behind her. "I am sorry I am late, Peeta," she wheezed. "Ms Trinket cornered me in the kitchen, and I could not escape."

He smiled at her, and crossed the study floor, reaching forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. He breathed in her scent, and did not even care that there was the faint, cloying smell of cleaning products that lingered. She was still his Katniss.

He still wanted her.

She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes clear and empty of the worry he saw so often. "I was not waiting long," he told her, though it was a bold faced lie. Some days he felt like he had been waiting for her forever. "But I am glad you are here now." He leant down, placing his lips chastely against hers.

He was surprised when her hands clutched hurriedly at the back of his jacket, pulling him closer, his chest bumping against hers. His pulse leapt at the feel of her breasts against him, even through layers of clothing.

He had a good enough imagination.

“Katniss?” he murmured against her lips.

“I just missed you,” she mumbled back and he did not question her further.   Their kisses were at first soft and sweet, before a heat began to build, stoking and sparking until he was almost breathless.  Her mouth parted under his, her tongue tentatively slid along his lower lip and sought deeper entrance into his mouth and every thought fled from his head. It was not often she took the lead, that she instigated any physical contact between them.

His hands slid down her back, stopping at the small curve that flared at her hips, his fingers knotting in the twisted ribbons of her apron.  He loved doing that, tugging them in his hands while he imagined that his next pull would unravel her apron, her dress, and everything underneath it.

He was going to go mad.

Peeta bit lightly on her lower lip, and she gasped.  But it was not a moan of pain; no, by now he knew every sound she made, what every little whimper or sigh meant when he touched her. It killed him knowing that there were so many other sounds she could make that he had not heard.  He wanted to know what sounds she would make as he cupped her breast in his hand, as he ran his tongue across her nipple, as he dipped his hand between her legs and teased her mercilessly.  As he entered her for the first time, and every time after that.

Just the thought made his stomach tighten, and his blood pulse and rush to his groin.  His hips jerked into hers almost involuntarily, and his arms banded around her, pulling her flush against him, their bodies lined up from mouth to thigh, and she moaned.  It gave him all the motivation he needed - he backed her up so that she was aligned against the wood of the door, and he pressed into her deeper, wanting, needing, dying for the contact. Her fingers twisted in his hair, clutched at his shoulders, grasped at his hips, all the while her tongue fighting with his. He had never been so caught up in her, and she had never been so responsive.

And then her thigh shifted, and the full, hard length of him rested against her and the breath fled from his body.

Good lord, he needed to contain himself, he thought, and tried to pull away, tried to move out of her grasp.  At first she was hesitant, but she let him slip from her arms, concern on her face.

“Peeta, what is wrong?” Katniss asked, worry and surprise evident in her voice, as she stayed resting against the door.  Her hair was mussed, her breathing heavy.

“I….I…..” he found his words caught in his throat, unable to speak them.  Especially when what he wished to say was _I am sorry, Katniss.  But I must stop before I am unable to control my urges to remove you of your clothes and have my way with you._

He did not think she would respond to such blunt words very well.

“Peeta? Have I done something wrong?” Her voice was quiet, and he looked up at her quickly, shaking his head emphatically.

“No, Katniss. It is me.”

“What do you mean?  What is it?”

He sighed, and slumped onto the plump loveseat, dropping his head into his hands. “Some days, Katniss, I cannot be around you.  You….incite in me feelings that I need to reign in, to keep control of,” he said finally.  He glanced up at her to see her cheeks pinkening.  “Some days, I cannot think of anything but being with you, and it is hard to remember my promise to you.”

“I…..” Her mouth opened and closed, until she took a deep breath, almost visibly steeling herself.  “You are not the only one who feels that way, Peeta.  I would not kiss you that way if I did not.” She crossed her arms in front of herself, as if holding her body together.  “Many a night I dream of you, and I wish that things could be different, that at night, when we meet here, that I could return with you to your chambers, that I could be with you.  But we both know it is a bad idea, no matter how much we both may want it.” She sighed.  “I should not have come here tonight.”

He shook his head in denial, but they stared at each other, two people who wanted each other desperately but had too many walls between them to bring down.

“I ache for you daily,” he finally blurted, rubbing nervously at his knees.  “I think about you, more than I should.  I think of us being together, and it kills me that we cannot.  Not yet.” Katniss closed her eyes and sighed.

“Peeta…..We may never…” she said softly, trying to keep the crack from her voice.  She was not successful.

“Do not say that, Katniss,” he begged.  “You know I wish for us to be together.”

“I know,” she whispered.  “And so do I.  But…..”

He stood, crossing to her and cupping her chin in his hands, his fingers spread across her cheeks, the skin soft and in stark contrast to her dry overworked hands he had grown to love. “There is always going to be a ‘but’,” he said, and she nodded.

“Please let us live in the moment, Peeta,” she begged.  “That is all we can give each other.”

Peeta nodded sadly, all but void of the fire and heat and life that had roared through his body not ten minutes before.  Sometimes he believed himself to be a glutton for punishment.

He slept fitfully that night, his dreams full of Katniss; of her moving over him, making the moans and sighs and gasps he was terrified he would never hear.

 


End file.
